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Psema mou [=My lie]


My lie in your name
I crucified each and every single aim
I woke up suddenly, but there you were again,
almost dreaming I murmured a melody plain.
You were swaddled with bands, when I first held you shyly,
you ’re made out of the stuff that makes the stars so shiny.
I fed you with my blood; it didn’t all go wasted
but you came always on the verge, you never waited.
Burnt- out crafter over a brazier built with flesh
works hard on my soul and makes it afresh.
Pathless ways and vows inviolate
with a chaste embrace my soul they await.
With a pair of wings I went all over the land.
I’m a tree unbowed that needs no soil to stand.
You showed me your fists, but mine down I held,
I saw the unseen and smelled the unsmelled.
I went and nestled up where you showed me.
It felt like home with words unfriendly,
sorcery that tied me up with quatrain,
and charms that suffered all my pain.
I was let down by sons that never grew to be men,
you led me on, though I helped you time and again.
Then I saw creatures that left their own lie behind
and soon found themselves in a bind.

I went where you showed me, my lie
and I saw hanging gardens nearby,
I saw many demons weary and tired,
runaway angels, retired.
Few dreams were put in the ground
and all had fruits rotten and downed.
There were mountains wearing a black snowed crown
and scarlet horizons for background.

My lie, you old boat of mine,
on a wild land you chose to resign.
On my half-conscious body you abut;
what a perfect mistake! and a deep cut
that took from me the joy of a proud pain
and in the depths of life had me constrain’d.
Secret trip like an ancestor’s curse
in pathways dark and diverse.
Evil root that draws me inwards
to find a clean piece of self for rewards.
I even invoke the maturest of all:
the good, the unforgettable, the eternal I call.
I constantly ask those deafened for long,
what made me less than I am, who gave me wrong?
Why didn’t I cry when things paled,
since my soul never quailed?
Where you showed me, my lie, I went quietly
and I saw the unspeakable wryly.
I saw scalded youth used to lure
and seeking salvation in pure,
worshipping gods with no worth,
bowing before an old mother earth,
unaware that you kept what they aimed
in zero degrees of life centigrade.

And you stood like a prince over there.
I was blinded with the jealousy’s flare.
You were drinking up time from a bright, silver flask,
but I took it away, it was such an easy task.
I grasped you and whispered with ire,
"Go to hell, I’ll go after the fire".

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